Sunday, March 12, 2017

UNTITLED 'dawn song'

why does a poem decide to go untitled?
when does a poem go nameless?
where do poems spring into dawn songs?

sun's receptacle is half filled
sun sets itself up as a spectacle  
it is half short of full 
it is not empty 
it bears its truth 

jazz band blue curtains on eyes lift 
skies rip out their buttons
devirginized clouds hold wind and sing the storm 
shadows become kites that haunt the morn 
we were answers to the darkness that marked a gap for four left feet 
and memory digs buried bed sheets with patterns of black times new roman font text message poems 

massage the dawn with your dreamy mind
massage the dawn beetle-blown-tea-ready-hot-kettle orgasm
massage the dawn 
charcoal-red-blood-diamond nostalgia 
massage the dawn 
dawn song 
dawn dawn song song
dawn dawn dawn song song song 
dawn dawn dawn dawn song song song song 
grandmother of the song died before the mother of the poem was born 

that means there is something wrong somewhere 
surgery swords of sunlight will stir 
swizz blades of lightning from sides of swivel clouds will flare 
summertime hearts are satellites 
dew and tears mix and become fountains for finders keepers' umbrellas 
a sense of belonging beyond birth rites 

here home could be anything
anyone, anywhere despite
plans change..especially for strangers spilled into dawn
who once made do with little..made do with the dry chalk feel of cheese falling from field priest oh we church mice..
setting street lights for the elements searching sensitive contours of the heart  
confused about comfort zones 
panties and private poems fit around self esteem 
plans change but presence stays 
to massage the dome of dawn 

and I know this because we're hugging this very moment  
we're running chins in the valleys of necks, whispers twirl revolution ginger fingers find gang signs we've never known
but it was a distant relationship last week and at this very moment we are not together 
to massage the dawn 
dawn song 
dawn dawn song song
dawn dawn dawn song song song 
dawn dawn dawn dawn song song song song 
we're slamming strings of fingers linked into wings, statements become mad museums as we walk into each other like we've never and dawn settles

we look outside the blinds and each phallus prominence under the metropolitan sky values the callous clear sun dance over the dye of night which swallowed tired minds 
these tears were invented as an alternative source of salt to season food for thought for us fools 
paparazzi moon shed skin all night all blue like a..
bespectacled blame gaming barmaid bundled on booze bar stools in bamboo ballerina shoes 
bamboozled but belonging bent on breath 
living the lonely life of a nose bridge 
like falcon with head dug into arm pit under firm file of fine feathers forgetting the dream of flying after a toe twist 

i now know that adulthood is a collection of many childhoods 
as mistakes are meant to test order 
responsibility. response ability 
but memory digs buried dead seas 

as we measure timelines of rainbows from opposite ends of the universe 
as we massage the deep half empty half full dome with
dawn song 
dawn dawn song song
dawn dawn dawn song song song 
dawn dawn dawn dawn song song song song 


  1. Well Kwame, this untitled poem does have a strong title to content. "Devirginsed clouds" still have me pondering. Nevertheless, "i now know that adulthood is a collection of many childhoods" is as insightful a line as I have read in a few years. I enjoyed this post and thanks for you making what is clearly a mind battle-royal, Mr K the poet.

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